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I nod in response, and then he bounds downstairs, immediately moving to inspect the body. Shucking off my suit jacket, I wrap it around Caroline’s front and slip my arms beneath her limp body, settling the curve of her neck and the bend of her knees in the crook of my elbows. Lifting her, I turn and head downstairs for the back exit, stopping briefly when Gia appears beside me.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“What do I do with the friend?”
“Drug her. I don’t want her remembering any of this. With any luck, she’ll just think she drank too much.”
He nods, and then hesitates, scraping over his bottom lip with his teeth, jerking his chin toward Caroline. “Do... do you want anything forher?”
“No. I need her to remember everything.”
Settling Caroline’s unconscious body on my bed is a lot more difficult than I’d anticipated. Not because she’s heavy or particularly inflexible, but because each movement of her limbs causes her dress to ride up or loosen at the sides, exposing more of her creamy skin to me.
And fuck, it’s been far too long since I’ve felt it beneath my fingertips.
Still, I don’t want to scare her, so I refrain from copping a feel. She can think I’m an asshole, but I won’t let her lump me into the same category as her father and his associates.
Since her dress is strapless and can easily slide down her body, I retrieve a t-shirt from my dresser and work it over her head, pulling the fabric down her shoulders and adjusting it, covering her to the tops of her thighs. Without her assistance, it’ll have to do.
The dress stays on beneath, waiting for when she wakes up and can remove it herself.
I reach down and unbuckle her shoes, tossing them to the floor, and stick the knife in my pocket, where she’ll have to violate me to get it back.
A stab of guilt prods my brain, knowing I’m taking away her only defense, but I ignore it.
Stripping slowly, I keep my eyes trained on her sleeping form; her chest rises slowly with each breath, her face a peaceful mask I’ve not had the pleasure to experience thus far in our relationship. She’s always guarded and on edge—a caged tiger waiting for her chance to strike.To run.
My chest aches with the realization that I don’t want her to.
Resisting the primal urge to curl my body around hers, to keep her safe from whatever it is she’s trying to escape, I perch on the edge of the bed and pick up my phone, thumbing through my messages while I wait.
There are two from my father, asking if I’ve had a sudden lobotomy that caused me to kill a government official. One from Kal, saying everything at Crimson is under control, and one from Gia, letting me know he’s headed to Stonemore to interrogate his brother and taking Kal with him.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I drop back on the bed and let my phone clatter to the side, staring up at the cathedral ceiling. The white sheets are fresh thanks to the housekeeper, Francis, who makes it a point not to be around when I am. They’re soft, plush and inviting, and sleep overtakes me before I have the chance to fight it.
I welcome the darkness that typically envelops me in this plane of subconsciousness, but it never comes; instead, I’m encased in bright light, surrounded by a sky of soft watercolors and more starlings than I’ve ever imagined existing. They soar above me, higher and higher, an endless stream of flight that mesmerizes me.
My mother’s there, waiting for me, a warm smile on her still-young face. It’s a dream I haven’t had in ages, and it causes a cavern to crack open inside me, spewing my evil traits for her to see.
But she doesn’t recoil or even seem to acknowledge all the bad things I’ve done, all the cruel things I am. Her arms open, calling me to her embrace; I’m seven-years-old again, a boy needing his mother.
When I reach her, everything in me seems to soften, to lighten. Like she’s the water for this long-dead soul I drag around.
“Elia.” Her lilted voice whispers in the wind around me, wafting through my hair and skimming my skin. Goosebumps pop up; it’s been so long since I’ve heard her—since I’ve felt like she was still with me.
I squeeze around her waist as tight as I can, unwilling to let her go this time.
She hugs me back just as tightly—like she’s been waiting for this moment.
But it doesn’t last.
It never does.
When I tilt my head back up to get another look at her face, it’s already morphing into something vile; blood seeps from her eye sockets, which have blackened and swollen, and a bright red splotch spreads on her white dress, soaking through. I feel it on my chest, tainting me the way it did when she died the first time.
Fuck. Wake up, Elia.
